


Taste for Death

by Mildly_Spicy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Action, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, Canon-Type Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masochism, Mental Instability, Murder, Oral Sex, Post S3E13, Post-Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Revenge Sex, Sadism, Slow Burn, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, fetishes, yes they are switches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mildly_Spicy/pseuds/Mildly_Spicy
Summary: Hannibal and Will manage to save themselves after the fall, but end up finding themselves in much deeper trouble.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. The Fleeing Lamb

The debris of the fall floated down with them. Sand, pebbles and droplets of blood were falling on the awaiting, frothing sea beneath. This combination created a peculiar scent that travelled within him, which he could only describe as sinister. Sinister because Will had become aware of his actions, but they did not affect him. Will had finally, after a dreadfully long time discovered true, bold peace. Putting his defeated state-feeling aside, along with the rest of the overwhelmingly strong emotions sipping out, he had come to terms with his decisions. Although, in the background, there was a haziness overtaking him, as though he was in a trance, high off of Hannibal's death-grip on his waist. Maybe that was affecting his judgment. Will had come to understand Hannibal and thus become him. With Lecter, something else entirely was created that may have been hard for Will to accept. Unfortunately, there was no time to accept or refuse anything. There were no words or actions exchanged as there was no time to react. 

This sacred moment was interrupted by the sound of waves crashing on jagged rocks. They engulfed them in a cold, sharp and bruising embrace. Hannibal hit the waters first. Will followed, one arm still tightly wrapped around the man's neck and the other hitched on Hannibal's bloodied shirt. On impact water filled Will's parted mouth travelling down his throat, unwelcome. He immediately thrashed around in surprise, pushing Lecter away from him, terribly taken aback as he had relaxed so much in the moment. He attempted to open his eyes but soon regretted it, feeling the sting of the salt. The shock of the cold waters came next. His skin started feeling so icy he was convinced he'd be able to break it like thin glass. He then started fighting the drag of the waves that'd been amplified by his clothed body, hands and feet slashing around as he desperately tried to reach the surface for a breath. 

With a gasp, his head jumped through, choking out the water that tried to reach his lungs. The waves that were tearing through the sea still there, they violently slapped the side of his face, as if punishing him for surviving. The man flailed in pain as the water angrily entered his ear canal, temporarily deafening his left ear. He managed to pant out half of Lecter's name before another wave came crashing down on him with such force, enough to make a man scream, although he merely hissed instead. The initial shock from the impact had his senses partially muted. But, now that he could gulp down some air, now that he was not fighting for immediate survival, he started feeling the tormenting pain. It filled his beaten body with spikes, needles and broken glass. It poured acid on his bleeding wounds and made his already sore heart beat with even more force. Strangely this experience felt exhilarating, comical even. The adrenalin from the distress and confusion running through his pulsing veins was making his body tense and ready to fight, pounce and defend. What he was experiencing was pure survival. Yet it felt like a punishment sent from the Gods for attempting to kill one of their kin. That was the funny part. 

''Hannibal!'' He tried again, successfully this time, to call after the fallen God, the sound of his voice desperate and raw. He then started swimming around battling his sore muscles and the pain that still very much lingered. The blanket of blood that had covered them both had washed away. The feeling of the man next to him (around him and over him) was now gone too. So, he started searching for him. In the deep of the night, his eyes were not very useful. Will knew he couldn't rely on his hearing either, since the waves drowned out most sounds.

''Hannibal!?'' He screamed again, voice breaking slightly with impatience. He started panicking now. What if the impact had severely wounded him, enough so that he couldn't swim? What if he hit a rock and broke his neck, back or head? He could be dead by now, floating somewhere in the water not that far from Will. He very well could be settled down on the ocean floor, never to be seen again. Will hoped hard against that. He dipped his head below the water, his hair gliding through the sea. If this moment hadn't been so terrifying, it could have without a doubt been a painting, he thought. Him soaring through the deep blue waters, contrast the grey-ish foam of the waves above, searching for his dying friend-God. His eyes now semi-accustomed to the salt, opened halfway hoping to spot something in the deeper parts of the sea. He whipped his head left and right in frantic motions, the movement leaving trails of blood from the cut on his cheek. Though, this proved to be useless. Everything was blurry and all the colours married together made a depressing black-ish blue. He emerged once again, disturbed with the results. He couldn't have floated far. I fell with him in my arms, he thought. With no sight of Hannibal, Will painfully decided to swim to shore. 

Not many minutes of war with the waves and current of the sea later, he stomped his heavy legs on the sand, struggling to walk through. Alas, his aching body gave up under the traumatic circumstances. Will fell harshly on his hands and knees in conflict with his body, fighting, wanting to rise and run. Yet he stayed there for a few moments, catching his breath before his back hit the ground sinking in the wet sand slightly. A sob was threatening to escape him, but he bit back. Even though it was an appropriate time to be vulnerable, break down and lose his wits, Will dismissed it. But, not for long. His eyes were now speeding through the scene. He was absorbing every bit of information he could, hoping to remember this moment. Similar to how the ground beneath him would remember the iron taste of his bloody flesh. Because trauma could sometimes tear holes through the brain, leaving empty spaces behind, you forget with trauma, you see. He made a mental note not to again, not after what happened with Hannibal. Knowing him was a privilege and remembering how he bled through the opening maw of Hell's gates in the sea, on the cliff, under the soil was a much bigger one. A noble gift, a guilty pleasure. 

''And as a king, he rises'' slurred a voice behind him. It sounded dead and empty, despite it speaking words of poetic importance. Hannibal always had a dark poeticity in his voice. His tone would consistently hold some mystic reverence towards any topic. This time the matter would be their becoming, Will guessed.

''The king is wounded, he cannot rise'' said Will calmly even if he was surprised by the sudden and suspicious reappearance of Hannibal behind him. Lecter's presence motivated him to put pressure on his wound, making the raging gashing blood from his shoulder a little milder. It was as if, if Hannibal existed, he did as well. Like a well-oiled machine. You live, I live, Will thought. 

He could hear the grunting and panting of the divine being behind him, preparing to answer. Like a dying Eolus, keeper of the winds and king of the island of Aeolia. He sucked in and breathed out cold air with such power Will hoped he would breathe on him, push him through the air and make him float throughout the skies to forget all his pains. 

''Boat...behind the rocks on your left.'' Eolus was chocking on his blood. He coughed and coughed until he was able to speak again. Will guessed wrong. 

''I... have cellphones, ID's, shotguns, a medical and surgery kit.'' he clutched his lower abdomen, putting so much pressure on the wound his knuckles were bright white. His sunken-in eyes were closed, covered with shadows and under the intense light of the moon, the lines on his face appeared deeper and much more defined. They framed his slowly ageing face so elegantly. There was a dark beauty to admire. Will thought Hannibal was probably trying to hold back tears behind those lids and a scream behind that mouth. It'd be preposterous to watch him cry. 

''Drag me...boat.'' he was talkless, speaking without the complex and intricate language that made him into the sophisticated man that he was. It's a bit funny, watching him turn 'ordinary' in his vulnerable moments. Will could not imagine. 

He did as Hannibal ordered, moving swiftly for a man with two serious injuries, grabbing Lecter under the pits and dragging him softly over the sand towards the vehicle and being careful with the cuts and stab-wounds that dotted him. This picture reminded him of the times he'd haul roadkill off the street, checking every time if the poor animal was still breathing, ignoring the rotting stench coming off of it. Hannibal's voice did emit a similar stink, something like decay on a human body, something dead that Will could not fully decipher. Was it bitterness, shame or disappointment? Whatever it was, now was not the time to find out. 

When they reached the small vessel, Will took his time onboarding himself and Hannibal, bringing him to his height first before lowering him again. He was pressing the noises of strain on the back of his throat for so long after he laid Hannibal down they all came out. The shock was finally settling in, making his body shiver and shake, falling against the railing behind him as a consequence. Near-death experiences he had a few in his life, having been stabbed and shot. Thus he knew what came after, the burning, the freezing and the multitude of emotions overtaking his head and body. What he was not expecting was desperation. Will was desperate to keep on breathing because he knew if he stopped, Hannibal would as well. Eolus being short of wind, imagine that. 

''Where?'' He uttered and without having to elaborate his partner understood, gesturing to the back of the boat. Will crawled before he rose to his trembling legs again leaving back a path of blood. 

Under the hood was an assortment of tools. First, Will spotted the medical kit, already opened. Inside there were large sterile gauzes, rolled bandages, tweezers and scissors, antiseptic cream, oxycodone and fentanyl, both drugs Will had taken before, alcohol-free cleansing wipes and sticky tape all in their respective plastic packagings. Second, he recognised the surgical kit Hannibal had mentioned. Inside it, numerous surgical tools Will had never seen before. Third, he saw two ID's, burner phones and a few plastic baggies with bizzare brownish contents. 

''Hurry.'' the voice behind him croaked. ''Gauze, big bandage, alcohol...no, no alcohol. Bring morphine and a penetrating towel clamp-'' 

''A fucking what?!'' Will barked, his voice echoing along the cliffside. His anxiety was getting the better of him. 

''Big scissor-like tool... clamps on the ends'' he audibly gasped after, finally putting Will to action. 

He grabbed all the tools Hannibal needed, plopped them beside him and watched them scatter round. How am I going to do this? He asked himself. Will was a teacher, not a surgeon. The little medical knowledge he had was of dead bodies, not of living men. Although he could apply some of that knowledge on whatever he was going to perform on Hannibal. 

''What do I do now, Doctor?'' putting bitter emphases on the word 'Doctor' signalling that he was not the one with that profession. 

''Enter-wound, apply tower clamps... the shot wound is not arterial, so there's only tissue damage'' He took a small break to gather his breath before continuing. 

''The bullet is not inside me, the gun was military long-range, so the hole is small. You can close it with stitching, but if oxygen enters the wound, it can damage my surrounding organs.'' He grunted this time, the guttural sound leaving his lips like a volcano spitting lava.

''That's what the clamp is for'' Hannibal suddenly grabbed Will's wrist that was shivering, having a hard time grasping the tool. The touch affected them both, bare warm skin on bare cold skin, like ice and fire. One man burning and the other soothed. Their eyes fell on each other for the second time this evening, betraying a feeling of confusion for them both. 

After this, strangely motivated, Will got to work. Closing whatever he had to close, stitching flesh, pumping in drugs and wrapping Hannibal in long thick bandages that went around his broad shoulders and torso. This cursed procedure took hours upon hours, but the result was mediocre. Between stitchings, he did not forget to treat himself, as well as he could given the little lighting the vessel had and the tiny hand-mirror he found in the small storage space. He sutured everything on himself without any morphine, which at first was incredibly painful and cringy but later became bearable. Piercing at his skin with a curved needle and seeing it pass through a thin black string reminded him of the Mural killer. He drifted away and started reminiscing back to the time he was sitting in that dark and dingy interrogation room, watching Beverly hand him pictures of missing people aka possible victims. Oh, Beverly. 

And as if Hannibal was in his mind, he interrupted the little memory trip with a cough. As a result, their eyes met once again, this time much less conflicted. 

''Yes?'' Will sighed, already knowing what the man would say. His eyebrows arched, causing a gentle ripple through his forehead.

''You might want to start the engine, the FBI must be close, you didn't go through all this trouble to get caught now, did you?'' he asked with a silvery voice despite all the drugs in his bloodstream, just after pausing for a second to examine Graham's features.

''I did not throw us off the cliff to fool the police, Lecter. That came as a bonus'' He was already drawing the engine before Hannibal could say anything else about it, his eyes separated from the blond man, now scanning through the sea. 

''Don't ask,'' he added. Not because he didn't want to discuss it but because he didn't grasp why himself. The moment he leapt, everything made sense, everything felt right, but now things were a bit difficult. His emotions had relaxed, but his thoughts were not clear. They were trotting around his mind like racing horses showing off their greatness and importance. Around them, a heavy fog concealing them but never entirely. It was as if they were taunting him. 

''It must be hard to verbalise'' Hannibal suddenly pointed out.

''Don't push it, Lecter.'' as his warning went unnoticed, this time he snapped, making sure Hannibal got the hint by glaring at him. 

He saw the man raise a hand in defeat before dropping it on the cold and moist planks. The duo had not situated the best living conditions and had little to utilise, other than the two plastic benches on either side of the boat, the storage space and the cabin which Will guessed would be too small for the both of them, let alone awkward. Plus, food and water were scanty. He hoped Hannibal had some brilliant plan in that head of his or else they were fucked. Although, their level of comfort bowed down to the much larger concern of the authorities. The FBI and police, as Lecter had very well pointed out, must be in some way or another trying to locate them. Two missing men, one criminal and one assumed criminal (After whatever happened with the Red Dragon and the unfortunate officers.) Jack must be fuming by now, sitting in his office, calculating his next move or pointing around ordering staff and his team. Perhaps both. He, Jack and Alana had discussed a planned location that Will and Hannibal could meet in with Dolarhyde. However, after Lecter's impromptu escape, Jack would not know where to look for them. Knowing him though he must have already figured out the most evident flight routes. 

''Your house, my house, Bedelia's and your office. Those are all the places they must think we fled to.'' Will began, his tone soft yet filled with dread.

''Correct,'' Hannibal answered

''Your house would be their first thought, why are they not here yet?'' he continued. What could possibly be delaying Jack? The man who strongly disagreed with having Lecter as bait, getting him out of prison under police custody. He'd be moving as fast as possible at getting him back in. 

''Maybe he's buying you time'' he replied. This answer though was obviously not the one Will was after. Plus, it sounded incredibly suspicious. Why would Jack want to give him and Hannibal time to do anything together. He had made it perfectly clear that Lecter was a horrible influence. 

''No, something else is going on, I know Jack. He'd never want me to be with you for such an extended amount of time.'' he paused before turning to pace quickly towards Hannibal. They could already be here, watching them over the cliff like hawks. 

Hannibal looked offended at Will's words as if they were not true. You're not Virgin Mary. Will wanted to cry out. 

Will's calloused palm ran over his face, in an attempt to relax his tense features, pushing some of his worries away. It was finally time to spin into motion, start cranking the cogs of their plan, to ask the right questions. The night was theirs as long as they kept on moving, travelling through the wide of the sea. Will opened his mouth and questioned Hannibal on their destination, what was expecting them there? Who would be by their side and who against them? He received answers he was not expecting 'Cuba' and heard names of people he'd never heard before, like Gladis, Harry and Kleo. Two of them shared the same last name. Gladis Stevens and Harry Stevens. Will guessed they were brothers. Apparently, they were trustworthy people, all of which owed to Hannibal. What, he had no idea. 

''Cuba, huh'' Will said between sips of the brown sludge he had discovered back in the storage. It proved to be a vitamin slushy that tasted horrible, but that Hannibal insisted he drank for energy and blood 'restoration'. It had an aftertaste of burnt plastic and strawberries, excellent. 

''It's our only option now. I have close connections there and hardworking people,'' he mumbled, having the slushy staw between his lips. The chef from Lithuania, drinking vitamins off of a plastic baggie. Will could feel the smirk already forming on his lips. 

''It's that or Mexico, deep in the jungle where police cannot reach us. It'd be difficult for them to spot us there. Jack would have to ignore the drug cartels surrounding us. Plus, working with the feds of Mexico is famously difficult.'' he paused, opening and closing his mouth as if hesitating, for some reason. 

''I will not have you buried in cocaine and methamphetamine. Besides, the crowd there is vile'' Hannibal's eyes spotted Will's on him, the intensity of their stare electric. The way Hannibal spoke puzzled Will. The phrase 'I will not have you' buzzing in his ears. It was as if his tone was acidic, stripping Will of his clothing, exposing him to the moonlight. How would you have me, Lecter? he questioned, yet he was the only one listening. Nevertheless, he had to agree. The idea of a gentle Cuban sun on his skin and fruity cocktails sounded better than jungle trees and snorting substances.

Will sank into his body, as he did before when searching for Hannibal. He delved into his own ocean, where only he knew the footing. This mass of water was his territory, only for tonight. Will used to think of his body as a machine, a means of transportation. Or as an instrument of destruction for the means of justice, used to mirror the ways of society. How foolish and minuscule was that? There were so many more ways to use his flesh that could surpass his physical limits. Will's body started arranging itself differently, with purpose. He saw the God of wind again, Eolus. He blew on him gently, transforming him into the clouds he so desperately wanted to fly through just a few moments back. He could shape himself into whatever he wanted now, whatever weapon, plant, rock or human he wanted. In the night sky, two eyes appeared. They were triangular and covered in a slick sheet of darkness. They looked like Lecter's, passionate and intense. Then came his pulse, sending waves of hot blood throughout him and ticking as if marking time. Will drifted away, laying on the hard plastic bench, ignoring his pained ribs. There he stayed, chased by distant sirens into sleep.


	2. At Long Last, Cuba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hours on the sea, Will and Hannibal finally arrive in Cuba. There, they discuss two strange men.

Do you know the Bible story of the shepherd who left his flock of sheep to find the one that was lost? If not, let me explain. Jesus and His disciples were sitting around one day, drinking wine. Wanting to teach them an important lesson, He decided to share a simple story about God's mission. A shepherd had a hundred sheep that would go out into the fields every day to feed on fresh morning grass. One day, one of those sheep wandered off from the flock, not a very good decision, considering the predators hidden in the woods. After the sheep had their fill, the shepherd started counting them as he always would at the end of the day, no matter how tired he was. Unfortunately, one was missing. So, good ol' shepherd decided to look for it, as he cared about all his animals very much. Into the deep of the night, he searched and searched until he finally found it. He carried it on his shoulders back home with the rest of the sheep, his excitement forming an enormous smile on his face. The shepherd entered his home and saw his family eating dinner on the table and told them, all his neighbours and his friends 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!'. Jesus ended the parable saying 'I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance.'

Will was not a believer, yet the meaning behind these childish stories resonated with him deeply. There was a tragic similarity Will spotted between his relationship with Hannibal, this story and several other stories about faith. It was as if Lecter was someone worthy enough to pray to or for. Although, he knew that Hannibal wasn't god. In fact, he was way too far from being God, all the way to the other side where Satan was. If he had to describe him, Will would say 'Satan' was the term that fitted the man the most. But it still wasn't a perfect description. According to the Bible Satan was prideful, fierce like a lion, cruel, ruthless and deceitful. Thus far, all these words fit the man like a glove, yet the last term mentioned 'Subtle' does not. Hannibal was not subtle. The man was in it for the dramatic and 'dramatic' is an understatement of his character. For example, Hannibal making cannibalistic jokes right in front of Jack's face. Planning 'people filled' dinner parties (literally). Sending a man to murder his wife and child due to jealousy and to top it all off stab him in the stomach to teach him a lesson. And in the end, this man, despite the cacophony of warnings ringing around him for people to avoid interacting with him, attracted just the right crowd, Will, Jack, the whole FBI, Bedelia, Alana and every single patient that he ever consulted. 

'Special' does not fit him, 'Unique' doesn't either, despite their conversation during therapy. ''You are unique Will, and for that you are alone.'' Hannibal was his own breed of Evil. Something out Heaven, Hell and Godness. He was everything. Good and Evil. Virtuous and Unjust. Inhuman yet terrifyingly human. So, even though it felt right for Will to bow down and start praying for his life and afterlife, he didn't have to. He could sit there beside him and admire him. He could speak to him, touch him and feel for him but most importantly understand him. That was good enough for him.

''I saw a dream last night'' Will yelled from the front of the boat. They were approximately eight hours into their trip, close enough to their destination to slow down a bit. The 'surgery' must have taken about five hours, thank the lord for Hannibal's mumbled yet good advice on suchering a shot wound. Otherwise, it would have taken ten more. Their brief nap was around three hours, even though they needed a lot more, Hannibal needed a lot more. After waking up and simmering down after that dream of his, Will headed over to check on Hannibal's condition and got to see him in his most bizarre state. 'Do reptiles sleep during the night?' he thought to himself. In front of him, a sleeping Hannibal, stiff and grumpy looking. He thought back to his middle school days when he would sit on the couch with his dad and watch the Discovery Channel. Most of the times they'd watch episodes of big angry lions fighting off hyenas, protecting prey and their families. But, one time they watched this creepy episode about reptiles. It showed a bunch of weird things they did, such as rolling around as they mated, jumping into the air from tree to tree and sleeping during the day so they could hunt at night. Hannibal broke this rule, sleeping during the night. 'You'll starve then' Will thought, his brain jumbled up, heavily affected by the morphine. 

''What'd you see?'' Hannibal asked half awake, his lids heavy on his eyes. Will the night before had found a white sheet and a pillow from the cabin beneath and had laid Hannibal on top so that he could sleep with a bit more comfort, as Will couldn't move the injured man to the bed. The pillow was now nowhere near him. It was close to the railing ready to fall off, which was strange because the waters weren't rough enough for items to scramble around. 

Will quickly brushed it off and went over to grab the pillow from the dirty floor to place it under Hannibal's head again. He gave it an aggressive shake to shake off the dust and dirt. ''I was in a river fishing. The stream was full and had a pretty strong flow, but I stood there and kept fishing anyway. It was a good day for fishing. There were so many fish, all different colours and sizes. I remember making a lot of bait back home, but it wasn't enough. That's how many fish there were. I thought wow, this looks like a Carnival, cause it looked as if the fish were ribbons dancing around." Hannibal was laying there silently eyeing Will and listening carefully. ''And suddenly I see this bright light coming at me, full force. I was not scared at first, cause I thought it was the sun shining a bit more intensely. But then my clothes start burning. Even the river started boiling and bubbling.'' Will paused to duck down to Hannibal, lifting his head a bit with his palm. ''That's where the dream ended, but I think I died after that.''

''As one does after they get hit with a strange space fire-ball,'' Hannibal commented with a smirk. The dream probably didn't sound all the odd to him. He'd probably heard much weirder stuff from his former patients. Plus, Lecter probably had an obscure explanation behind every element of Will's dream. Were he to ask, he'd probably find a way to connect it with some deep part in Will's psyche.

''I was fatigued, go easy on me.'' Will laughed softly. The truth was he was still very much drained. His limbs were heavy and not listening to him. This morning he had to dip his face in a tiny bucket of water to wash his face correctly as his hands weren't responding. It was quite awkward. Each movement he'd make was a struggle. It was as if the fall had aged him forty years, pulling him in the eighties. Even him stooping to get the pillow for Hannibal was hard enough. Speaking of which, that bastard must have thrown it on purpose, so that he'd be in pain. Will threw him an annoyed look that found Hannibal confused. 

''Anyway. Two hours from the port?'' Will asked, his tone turning glum and sharp, dissolving the jokey atmosphere. This question reminded them both of the pandemonium waiting for them the second they step on land. The first thing they'd have to make sure is going someplace safer, unnoticed. Sure, they are in a foreign country where few people know of them, or at least Will. But, ten hours after their tragic disappearance news will be surfacing. And Will wondered for a second what the headlines would be 'Master criminal mind Hannibal Lecter and FBI special agent Will Graham assumed dead after vanishing into thin air. The authorities and FBI are continuing their thorough investigation into what occurred that night.' Or perhaps they'd say something like 'The end of The Murder Husbands and internet frenzy'. Surely tattlecrime wouldn't miss their chance on a headline like that. Yet, something was wrong. Jack wouldn't just give up and declare them dead with no evidence, no body. He wasn't stupid. 

''We''ll arrive at the port in two hours. From that point forward, we'll have to act fast. I made sure to contact some people that have close connections with Cuban Navi and the authorities. My people will make sure no one finds out of our arrival. If they do, others will deal with them.'' Hannibal confirmed. This information should have calmed Will in some way, but it only strengthened his anxiety. Any suspicious death or removal of people of importance will be associated with them. Florence was a good example: Dr Fell and Misses Fell, my ass. Jack and Alana will know. 

''I'm not sure your plan is foolproof Hannibal. What if they snitch on us?'' Will was eyeing Lecter intensely, fear practically pouring out of him, yet his body language looked natural, unbothered. ''You have mutual trust between you, but they've never met me'' It was true, they'd never met Will before. And that, other than making him an outsider to Hannibal's mafia buddies also made him a target. Fed background, close connection to a major party in the FBI, terribly suspicious attitude towards crime, Will was practically a moving bullseye. ''I'm not sure about this.'' He sighed, verging on the paranoid. 

''Will, the chances of that happening are slim'', was all that Hannibal said and that ended the conversation. They had to be ready for the worst. Were they to slacken, their whole world would fall apart. And yet if they were to act too tense and unnatural, people would deem them suspicious. Basically, torn between two disastrous scenarios. At times like these, Abigail's voice rings in his ears, her face blinking in front of his eyes as if she were there. Will listens to his own words from back at the hospital, when Abigail sat next to him on the bed, a hallucination of her, an idea at most. 'Everything that can happen, happens. It has to end every way it can. This is the way it ended for us.' Indeed, everything that can happen, happens. Whichever scenario comes after the two men will be the right one because of that fact. Still, Will can't cease to dream of something better than this. Grief floods him remembering the pain and disappointment in Hannibal's eyes the night he stabbed him. For the first time, he witnessed true pain coming from the man. For a second, one that seems to last centuries, Will regrets his decisions. He almost opens his dry mouth to apologise, but it was not time for apologies just yet. Not yet. 

~~

After two hours of gruelingly waiting to spot a clear sight of the port, it was finally there. It was shabby-looking with lopsided steps and rocks sticking out, slimy, covered in moss. Thankfully, It was nowhere near civilisation, which was good. An overly tanned man with a beer belly that flopped under his shirt, who'd likely been there for many hours, helped to dock the vessel. Next, they deboarded with the help of the stranger, who for some reason was talkless, exchanging no looks with them. It was as if he had done this numerous times. Will grabbed Hannibal, letting him hitch on Will's shoulder with one hand so that they could walk more easily towards wherever the stranger was leading them. That ended up being a small, unkept sea house not many feet away. They wasted no time, heading in and settling down on the beds provided for them. A feeling of relief engulfed him, considering they'd arrived safely and silently, without creating chaos. In all honestly, he was ready to slump down and sleep for days on the soft bed beneath him, but he knew their plan would not allow that. 

The stranger whose name he whispered was 'Pablo', came back into the room with two hefty looking bags of medical equipment. He proceeded to treat Hannibal, his hands moving swiftly and expertly across his body. Will thought to himself that Pablo was probably a doctor, perhaps even an associate of Lecter's. He took his time with the procedure, applying an IV and transferring blood first. Then, unstitching and stitching back skin, wiping dry blood and sterilising both Hannibal's and Will's wounds. He even inserted some strange tube into the shot wound that had Hannibal hissing and panting. That tube Pablo said, was filled with tiny particles that replace the oxygen that entered. They will absorb into his body, bringing his muscles back into their original position. Thenceforth, he swapped a few words with Lecter in a foreign language and with that, he left them to rest for as long as they needed.

This time he slept peacefully on a much softer surface, his ribs aching from last night's catnap. His dreams were mellow and devoid of violent deaths because tonight there was time to spare. There was no rush to recover, to get back on his feet and run for his life. Instead, he could fill his minutes with a steady current of white sound that was gentle on the senses. As much as he loved the sea and rivers, he'd rather not see them or hear them for some time. This silence, interrupted only by the sound of breathing, was making Will feel secure. The safety that it created, as if a cocoon around Hannibal and himself was reminding him of something. Back then, when his father would carry him from the car to his bed, dead asleep. Or when mom would make him lay on her lap so that she could play with his curls. Yet, it was dangerous. Emptiness hinted something was missing and that something was coming. Nothing can be empty for too long. Otherwise, there's a problem, a hole in the system. He remembered back in high school when his physics teacher had pointed to a picture projected on the wall. It was a picture of space, of a black void. He went on to say that as much as movies make us think that space is empty, it is not. Apparently, it is a vacuum containing a bunch of low-density particles. He also said something about quantum mechanics and electromagnetic waves, but Will had chosen to ignore him. 

As much as he wanted to stress over the amount of silence in the room, he couldn't. Will was too far into dreamland to care about it, right at that moment. Scenes of beauty and colour were speeding through his eyes, creating a strange yet comforting narrative, one that he'd keep to himself this time. He dreamt of circuses and exotic dancers from strange lands. It fascinated Will what the human body could withstand, at least in his imagination: The weight of a hundred bricks, being pulled by the hair and spun around, folding in half and walking through fire. Yet some bodies can't survive being stabbed once, giving birth or even feeling loneliness for too long. And for the things that cannot happen with flesh, people find religion. And with that, they can do or be whatever they want to as long as they have as much faith as possible. Either in this life, the next or the afterlife. 

While the circus was beautiful, it forced too much information in Will's head. It was too hot in there, too noisy, the singers in the back were blasting in his ear-drums. The place reeked of sweat and cheap cologne. He couldn't stand it anymore, so with a push, he stood up and gasped clear fresh air. But when he opened his eyes, he found himself not in a circus but the room he had slept. 

The sun glowed red as it set, through a small window illuminating the whole room. Will threw a quick look around, taking in his surroundings. A small desk, a chair, a lamb and a toilet accompanied by a water bucket for 'showering'. They mustn't have had many housing options since this room looked like a prison cell. The only notable item was a painting leaning on the mouldy wall. It was an oil painting of rough waves covered by a thick fog. In the distance a few ships battling with the sea. The paint strokes were harsh, applied on angrily as if the artist wanted to point out his hatred for the sea. The signature on the bottom wrote 'Stevens' in elegant cursive. 

''Will,'' Hannibal whispered behind him, trying not to startle him. ''I see you noticed our present. It was a gift from my dear friend Gladison. He and Harry came by when you were asleep, but I didn't want to wake you. They were generous enough to drop some homemade food. Pescao de Escabeche, fish with- '' 

''Your friend paints really well...I assume he can deceive the authorities just as well?'' Will grumbled, irritated by the kind gesture. The beautiful painting aside, the two men were supposed to help the duo out in other ways. For example, forging documents or finding them a safer location to settle in. Artistry had no room in their situation. 

Lecter's eyebrows rose quickly, creating eerie creases. The air around him suddenly became thicker, suffocating Will rendering him mute for a few seconds. What was dangerous was the silence. It came once again packed, heavy. They continued in that state of suspended animation for a couple of minutes although some things were happening. Hannibal's breath had quickened, Will could hear it. What that meant he had no idea, but he was terrified, Lecter was unexpected. Whatever Hannibal could be planning in that head of his was always unforeseen. Only after Will took a glance at him did he realise he was laughing. He joined quickly after, awkwardly giggling, trying unsuccessfully to rinse off the tension on his shoulders. 

''Touché'' said Hannibal between chuckles. He slowly rose from the bed, grasping the stand tightly and began pacing towards Will. Despite the bandages around his waist and shoulders, he walked with ease and elegance, as he always did. ''I'm sensing a dislike towards Gladison, is that true?'' he asked, voice filled with arrogance. It was not. Will did not dislike the man. And given Hannibal's description of him, Gladis did not sound unpleasant. He was a young man, working as a lawyer majoring in art forgery. He had a great interest in painting but gave it up to focus on being a family man and had previously escaped a prison sentence with Hannibal's help. 

''What about Harry, does he interest you at all?'' breathed Lecter, having closed the distance between them, leaving a meter or so. The same uncomfortable atmosphere still lingered in Will's nostrils, but he ignored it. 

''Why would he interest me any more than his involvement in the plan?'' he challenged, confused. Will processed Harry in his mind a bit, trying to decipher Lecter's tone and question. Was Harry interesting in any noticeable way? Because if he was, Will had missed it. He sounded like an angry old geezer with an obsessive interest towards guns, knives and violence. Unintelligent, dense and old-fashioned but useful considering his close connections with the Navi and Military. What a golden ticket he was. Will shook his head no, making Hannibal's smirk soften, possibly in disappointment. 

''No?'' asked Lecter, ignoring Will's question, his voice soft yet coming off threatening 

''No.'' was all that Will could utter before he felt Hannibal's cold fingers on his cheek, brushing close his wound, now covered with thick bandages and body tape. In comparison to his other injuries, this one, Will was sure would to leave a horrible scar. Sweet Pablo had made an effort to stitch closely and with thin twine, fixing all of Will's mistakes. 

Hannibal stood there, quiet for a couple of minutes processing Will. He ran his eyes through every stab, scratch and bruise that dotted his body, the visible ones at least, making sure to brush only his fingertips over them. This odd act did not seem romantic or sexual as it did not satisfy either of those needs. It pleased only his instinct to explore and uncover Will. At this point, every action taken with any intent towards him was to strip back every layer of his nature. Will thought back to their first meeting in Jack's office. 'Eyes are distracting. You see too much, you don't see enough' Except now their eyes saw each other just the right amount. They would travel in and out of each other, deep in the minds and on their bodies unravelling films of fear, desire, passion and compassion, merging all of them into a bundle of pure selfless indulgence. And at this point, they were prepared to indulge in every way possible. There they stood for what felt like hours, exploring with their eyes, talkless. When they would speak they'd ask if the other was okay, if they were in pain. And when they were in pain they'd enjoy it, for now they could. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism is very much welcome. In fact, I encourage you to comment what you did not like in the chapter. That way I can improve :). Peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a small warning for the people who want to read this fanfic. I'm a fairly inexperienced writter and this is my first serious work, so do expect some errors here and there. English is not my first language, but I'm getting better. Other than that, I'll be making sure to keep my posting patterns fairly regular, but I won't be making any promises lmao. Peace.


End file.
